Queen of the Mafia
by BrokenScroll
Summary: She was a princess, and she was the heiress. A forced marriage, her throne stolen. It's time for her to fight back. Throw in a forgotten suspected dead brother, a betrayer and an heir to a lost empire into the mix and what could possibly go wrong in her war for the throne that was meant to be hers. {AU/OCs} {This is a rewrite of the original - the original will be uploaded soon}


**Chapter One**

If perchance you had asked a random stranger on the street, as to whether or not they would join the mafia. I'd imagine their face would be one of absolute disbelief at first before they'd scoff. Maybe they'd laugh and you would join in because you're only joking about joining the mafia. Who on earth would join the mafia by choice anyway? A life so full of uncertainty is enough of a reason to say no. Furthermore, the constant risk of being killed is even more of a reason to say no. However, there are many misconceptions about the mafia and how the mafia works. Whilst yes the cliché requirement of drugs, sex and money are pretty accurate, that's not the end of the tale, far from it. At the end of the day, the mafia at its foundation works because of blood, sweat, tears and most of all loyalty. Now, that I have your attention you must be awfully curious, how would I know about all of this? I'm not a police officer, nor am I a soon to be a victim, nor am I just some nosey journalist or investigator with too much time on their hands and a wish for death. I am not some random jack of trades double-crossing piece of shit either. Though I have in my short time sold out many of the aforementioned, murdered and mutilated a few etc. I am mafia born, I was given a choice when I was much younger by my father which determined my fate. I was told that I could run away, all I'd have to do is swear an omerta oath and then I could disappear to who the fuck cares, or I could take up the responsibility and the weight of an heiress in a world full of ruthless men and women all of whom could kill me at a moment's notice. But enough about the present, there's plenty of time for that later, it's time we go back, to the very beginning as it wouldn't be fair to leave you with so many unanswered questions.

Come closer, even closer I prefer not to shout, my shouting would mean you would be far beyond this plane of life, you'd be gone and into the next. Closer, I won't repeat myself. Now listen in and listen close. This is my story.

_Seven years ago _

"This is abhorrent, I expected the shipment more than twenty minutes ago, do the bloody Turkish understand who I am? What I can do to fuckers who get in my way!"

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, careful to avoid the horn. He sat there in the black customized _Tesla Roadster_ he alongside his men had been waiting for exactly thirty minutes, twenty of those wasted on the other party not making an appearance as promised. The screen of his phone lit up with a single message from his sniper some distance away watching the skies for him. To the rest of the world that sniper was just a sniper, though, to the family and his most inner circle, the sniper watching their backs was his Queen. He glanced at the screen and it was if no man was angrier. He had been glad she had given him the warning because in those next minutes his orders were quick and calculated. By the time the Turks had driven into view, the barriers were up and their ammunition aimed towards the Turks in every single possible direction except the direction for which they came, but reversing would only mean their imminent deaths, for he had ordered one of their many helicopters to be on standby in the area. He stood flanked by his men, their fingers on triggers waiting to shoot with deadly accuracy. The five Mercedes came to a halt, their engines turned off as a short stocky man jumped out from the one in the very center. Behind them a truck with their shipment. The short stocky man spoke and loud and clear, his accent apparent to everyone there.

"Valentin' my dear old friend."

"Don't you fucking dare try to sugarcoat motherfucker. We are well aware of what you are up to, give us our shipment and then get the fuck off our land." He snarled

"Valentin' I do not understand, what are you inferring?"

"Don't fuck with me Aslan, we know about the Slavs and the Germans"

"I see, your Sniper catch them did they?" Aslan voice dramatically lowering

Valentine watched as Aslan's men also prepared and soon it was to be a gunfight. He whispered into the mic attached his collar, well hidden from everyone asides himself.

"Shoot him right between the eyes"

He didn't have to wait for her decision, no one heard the bullet, they only saw what its target was and the impact it caused, the bullet leaving a gaping hole in the now very dead Aslan, his men taken aback, mostly from the shock of how quickly their King was dead. Valentine jumped over the barrier, his left-hand man Lucian and his right-hand man Michael approached the Turks who stood frozen, Lucian approaching the one closest to the fallen Aslan. Disarming him, Lucian placed a gun to the man's head whilst the others stood too astonished to do much of anything. Valentine and Michael, on the other hand, approached the shipment at the very back, one could say that after the death of Aslan, the Turks were out of a leader and thus unable to do much, even if meant firing a gun. Foot soldiers never disobeyed and they never exacted orders on their own. The Turks were stupid in that regard, they believed one leader was enough and never thought to have backups. Valentine and Michael inspected the shipment pleased at the quality. Now, came the matter of getting back to his mansion and getting rid of the Slavs and Germans who had oh so graciously decided to go behind his back, with the aim to take out his only true child, he could only hope that she had been smart enough to avoid death and was teaching the idiots a lesson. As he approached his vehicle, he unlocked and looked at all of his men who still awaited his order. As to not give away their intentions he switched to Romansh, something he was not as accustomed to speaking but still fluent.

"Kill them all, then take the shipment back to the Northern warehouse. We have Slavs and Germans to kill back home."

_Clary POV (Aged 18) _

The ricochet of bullets bouncing off walls, doors and floors, the shouts of men alerted me of their presence. I rose up from where I sat at my desk, slipping a finger underneath the first drawer, I slid the false bottom away and felt the cool touch of one of the two _Beretta 92 _handguns awaiting the warm contact of my palms. Taking them both out, I checked each before flicking the safety off. Slipping out of my heels into proper leather combat boots, I was soon out of the ridiculously expensive dress my mother had acquired for me from some fashion house I didn't care to know the name of and into clothing far less flashy and more down to earth, the comfort of combat boots, leather and denim was all I needed to be happy. Slipping in my earpiece, I spoke to no one in particular, but I knew full well my men could hear me and that I was expecting an answer.

"Who, what and how many?"

"Korolenkov and Dreyfus, we're not entirely sure but we do know they have three semi-automatic machine guns with them. Approximately 120 men Miss."

"Have any of them managed to get inside?"

Hearing the click of my study door lock. I made my way down the hallways, grateful now for my father's decision to keep my study in an area with no windows. Climbing up the stairs I continued to listen to the intel provided, glad to know that no one had made it inside and with their arrival the successful of a shipment deal with the Turks and my father's acknowledgement that two families, had slipped behind his back and were attempting to take me down. Entering the main hallway, I kept my eyes and ears sharp listening for anything out of the ordinary, but for the most part, all I could hear was the somewhat squeaks of leather against marble floors that had been freshly polished, it would be a shame if any blood did get on the floors. I soon found my way to the men that were inside firing at the intruders outside, who much to my disappointment still hadn't figured out how to get onto the property, though their bullets were most certainly making quite a bit of damage. My phone buzzed, placing it to my ear I ducked behind a group of men and squatted against the wall.

"Papa."

"How many?"

"120 they say."

"Any of them get in?"

"No papa. They're still stuck outside. What do you want us to do?"

"I am coming home now, the backup is on the way. Keep control of the men and make sure they pay for this."

"Yes, papa."

"See you soon Princess."

The line went cold. Placing the slim black _iPhone _back into my breast pocket. I took a calm calculated breath before barking at the men in front of me and to my left and right. I made sure those who were not present but were listening via earpiece heard my orders loud and clear.

"Make them pay. Kill them all."

There was no need for an affirmative, they did as they were told. I rose up from where I squatted and made my way down the hallways, away from the gunfire, away from the white noise. Walking further into the mansion I avoided the men who were rushing back and forth. Until I made it into the library, but the books were not what drew me to the room, that couldn't be further from the truth, I pulled the silken cloth off, and dusted off the harp, touching the strings, I plucked a few and listened to the note echo through the room. Lifting the harp up I moved it closer to the windows and dragged a chair from somewhere in the room before searching for my notebooks, retrieving the least used, I opened it up and read over the little scribbles of notes I had written, the notes that I had copied down, taking one of the many ballpoint pens off my desk. I sat down by my harp and replayed the melody, letting myself concentrate. There was a battle outside and here I was playing my harp like no tomorrow, creating and remixing melodies that flowed within my mind constantly, when I was not playing my harp, when I wasn't being a mafia princess and when I had no expectations placed on me, I was painting or drawing, but the studio was away from home and with gunfire outside there was no way of reaching my studio without alerting our enemy so I played. It felt like hours before the door of the library slammed wide open, putting down my pen I looked up from my notebook and there stood both my mother and father.

"We thought we'd find you here." My mother halfway between hyperventilating and not.

"They've been dealt with then?" Shutting the notebook

"Yes." Father took one step into the room

I remained where I was, returning to my previous activity. My father announced.

"This manor is no longer safe. It's time to go back to Switzerland."

Switzerland, our home country and our home base, where our family's reputation stemmed from. Listening to his comment, I stood up and placed the notebook and pen back where they belonged before covering my harp in its protective silk covering, just as four men walked in, they lowered their heads, one of them carrying a harp case. My eyes honed in watching the four of them treating my harp, originally my great grandmother's with the utmost care before allowing me to lock the case. They ushered it away, father turning away and returning to his office, mother, on the other hand, reaching for my hand, she smelt of gunpowder and sweat but no blood. She walked ahead of me, I didn't bother to ask her about how her day was or such like. Unlike most mother-daughter relationships we did not have the closest, we couldn't. Whilst family is close within the mafia, the ever daunting threat of death made the thought of relationships between family members difficult, and besides I leaned closer to my father because I was to be his immediate successor unless someone decided to challenge my claim which seemed very unlikely. Along the way to my room, a male figure was leaning against the wall, on closer inspection it was Simon. He had a very freshly bandaged shoulder peeking through, I diverged from my mother and approached him instead, careful not to touch his shoulder I wrapped my arms around him.

"Hey, Clare."

"Hey, Si. What happened to your shoulder?"

"Oh this, it's from training this morning."

"Did George beat you again." Her tone becoming sarcastic

"Surprisingly he is in worse shape than I am, and no this, this was caused by Max."

"You let a twelve-year-old beat you?"

"Well… Isabelle begged me. I mean, you know how awkward Max is and how the other kids refuse to train with him."

"Hey! Don't diss him, he's a nerd like you."

"Likewise Clare."

I rolled my eyes before playfully hitting his chest, I then walked alongside him and into my room which was being packed up by maids, I sat on the love couch in the corner by the unlit fireplace. I would miss New York, even if we did reside in upper state New York. I had lived in this one manor for the past eight years, taking up most of my teenage years, before this place we lived in Catania Italy and occasionally when I had behaved well we'd take a trip or so to Rome. I had never been to our family's traditional Home base in Switzerland, in fact, I never thought there would be a day where I would have to ever go to Switzerland or for that matter back to Lucerne, which my father had described to me quite often that I would love the architect there and that I would hopefully fit in with the locals… well, that's what my father had hoped but I was quite sure that anyone could tell I was a Swiss raised as an American-Italian.

I stood up when men came to move the love couch, gravitating towards the window that overlooked the Greek inspired gardens, I sighed louder. Simon avoided the maids and the men, but he didn't exactly stop moving, instead choosing to pause only briefly by the maids who were packing away the photos. As I watched them collect the photos, wrapping them in a foam like plastic before placing them away in boxes upon boxes, I stopped them as they reached the center, preferring to put the largest and oldest away by myself. The picture itself was like any other picture expect there was a difference, unlike the others in which my parents and I were in, or the pictures with my friends and I, this one was different because I was an infant, and was being held by my long dead older brother. I may have mentioned before that I am the only heir to my family and I am, after his disappearance, and so presumed death, I was the only one who could continue our family's line. His name was Jonathan, and at the time of his disappearance I was turning five or six, he had disappeared under mysterious circumstances and his body was never found, leading many to believe that his body had been destroyed, though some of the skeptics believed he had faked his own death to start a new life and took the coward's route over swearing the oath. Wrapping it up in foam, I placed it on top of the framed pictures, as the maids went to seal the box up, I grabbed one of them by the wrist and gave her a cold stare

"I don't give care what my father says, and I don't care what my mother says, this box must be kept on top of all the boxes, preferably with no other boxes surrounding it, I do not want a single item inside damaged or scratched. Or there will be consequences, am I clear?"

The maid nodded her head, before sealing the box and writing in neat block lettering: Extremely Fragile. She then picked up the box and gave it to one of the awaiting men, whispering my instructions before letting the man go. Once the room itself was empty, with Simon in tow I stalked the halls listening out for my father's voice. Of which I could not hear. Catching sight of Luke's head, I began to speed up, he turned around, on his face adorned a smile that I knew all too well.

"Princess, what seems to be the matter?"

"Where's my father?"

"Val is in his office."

Now if Luke had been any other man, he would have been shot dead. Only mother and him were allowed to refer to him as anything other than Sir or by his full name Valentine. I thanked Luke before speeding down the opposite end of the manor, finding myself soon at the front of the rather intimidating dark charcoal oak doors, it always made me nervous knocking on my father's study. Even now as an almost woman, I found it difficult to do so without shaking.

"Come in Clarissa."

Simon long having left my side, I opened the door and took a step in, the smell of cigar smoke, sweat, blood and whiskey filled my air ways and I resisted coughing, no matter how many times I had been in here, the smell put me off every single time, there in the corner by the punching bag that my father kept within his study, father stood there without a shirt punching the black leather, with thin white cloth preventing his knuckles from being damaged. In the other corner, sitting rather gracefully at his desk, attending her sniper was my mother.

"I thought we were getting ready to leave?"

"We are, and we will, your father has a meeting in an hour with the other heads, you and I on the other hand, will be leaving after afternoon tea is served. Take a seat Clary." She looked up from polishing her scope. As I was proceeding to move towards one of the couches, a knock interrupted my moment. My father barked again.

"Come in Pangborn."

What the hell was the head of the Pangborn family doing here? Taking a seat, the door open and there stood Tobias Pangborn, like my father he was a tall man, but with a lot more bulk, his hair was a soft brown, almost chocolate like and from just above his collar peeked a tattoo, what it was I couldn't tell, he and I were about fifteen years apart in age, not that it mattered. Like most other Pangborn males he shared their signature light brown eyes, speckled with flecks of green and gold, his attire on the other hand screamed of Armani, Gucci. Typical of a Pangborn perhaps if he were younger than I would be interested. My father had slipped on his shirt by now and my mother was now hidden behind a rather savvy false bookshelf. She was able to listen and see everything though.

"Clarissa stand up and approach the middle of the room, in front of my desk please."

I did as I was told immediately. Tobias on the other hand showed no emotion, not a hint. But his eyes scanned me, noting every part of me, as if to memorize my appearance. What happened next I did not expect, Tobias lowered himself onto one knee and presented a memorizing ring, stumbling into my father's desk, my mouth agape I looked at my father before looking for my mother even though I knew she would remain behind the bookshelf out of sight, out of mind. It took a moment but soon I found my words to speak, course not before Tobias spoke.

"Will you do me the honor in being my wife Clarissa Adele Morgenstern?"

"I'm sorry, but what the absolute fuck father!" Turning again to my father who was drinking his whiskey

"He just proposed Clarissa, don't be so rude."

I turned back to Tobias, who waited

"No, I can't marry you. I refuse!"

Tobias stood up, shutting the ring box approaching me rather sinisterly. I had nowhere to run, perfect. Father had planned this. I was ready to fight my way out of this, when I felt a sting on my neck, reaching for my neck I felt my mother's signature tranquilizer dart, leaning against the desk, the last sensation I felt was Tobias's lips on my neck and a whisper in my ear.

"You're mine now."


End file.
